


Der Ritter

by pwnedbypineapple



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Gen, Halloween, Slender Man - Freeform, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-31
Updated: 2012-11-05
Packaged: 2017-11-17 12:06:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/551366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pwnedbypineapple/pseuds/pwnedbypineapple
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There comes a time when you must either believe something or die in denial. Slender Man fic for Halloween 2012.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Act One

**Author's Note:**

> I meant to finish this sooner so that I could have both parts up by Halloween, but Real Life got in the way. And if American Horror Story can run after Halloween, then so can I. I can also plausibly drive you anywhere in the Quantico area and be an excellent chauffeur because of how much I Google-mapped that place, so any inaccuracies are the product of my never having actually visited and are my own. I can claim creative license on them, or you can just blame Slender Man.
> 
> Timeline: Somewhere in mid-Season 7.

  
_"You never know how much you really believe anything until its truth or falsehood becomes a matter of life and death to you."  
_ \- C. S. Lewis

It's nearing full dark, and the black night is made blacker by the unnatural fog that swirls along the road's edges, a menacing presence waiting to swallow the SUV up and drag it into the wilderness on either side of the road. Or maybe it's just the case getting to SSA Aaron Hotchner. He's certainly not feeling well, though it doesn't show; there's an odd feeling in his stomach, and it's setting him on edge, but it doesn't translate to his face very well. He gazes straight ahead, his mouth set in a thin line, as he drives ten miles below the speed limit just in case a passing deer happens along.

It's a cold comfort that the case is so close to Quantico - one attack in McLean, one near Bristow, and they don't have to fly. Quantico serves as their base instead of a hotel, but it brings no relief; it's evident in the way Prentiss slumps against the passenger door, deep in thought, and Reid slumps in the backseat, still wide awake. It's probably evident in Aaron's stomach, too, though this feeling has been going on for several days, now; he's considering a trip to his doctor.

The nature of the case is disturbing - two families attacked, with the children disappeared and their parents brutally murdered; several vital organs violently ripped out and then replaced inside the bodies in plastic bags. It's a distinct signature, but that's all that's distinct about this case. No traces, no hints, no anything... the children might as well have vanished into thin air for all the luck there is in finding them. It's too early to even approach completing the profile, and there's still too much they don't know... how the murders were committed, where the children were taken and for what purpose, etc.

Aaron's fingers are tight on the wheel, and he relaxes them; getting frustrated won't help anyone's case, and dwelling on it with this intensity is only driving his mind in circles. What he needs is sleep, honestly, though there's hardly a chance of getting much; sleep and to see Jack's face, to reassure himself of the innocence the world still has to offer...

"Look out!"

Prentiss's sharp cry jolts him, and he sees a tall, thin figure on the road directly before the vehicle, where he would later swear before God that nothing was previously. The world has slowed, taken on strange, acute qualities, and he feels himself jerking the wheel forcefully... too much force, too much, because it's almost as if the SUV wrenches itself out of his control. He can't get it back, can't even function at this point, and he hears yelling as the vehicle spins wildly.

There is nothing but trees in the windshield, and crunching, and then everything is pain.

* * *

Garcia is waiting for them in the bullpen.

Derek immediately notes the worry etched across her face, and his own concern is instantaneous; he knows that look, she's worried for them. As he, JJ, and Rossi approach, she hurries forward and informs them that the others haven't arrived yet.

"They should have been here fifteen minutes ago, they were closer, and it's not that long of a drive from Bristow," she frets. Hotch, Prentiss, and Reid had been at the most recent crime scene, while Derek, JJ, and Rossi had taken on the first one in McLean. The second attack had happened so quickly that by the time the BAU was invited in on the first one, the second occurred within hours. "The weather reports say the fog is atrociously bad down their route, and I tried to call them to make sure, but none of them answered; it rang, too." Garcia takes a deep breath. "I mean, it might be nothing, but I've just got a bad feeling, and I can't shake it."

Derek's feeling it, too; maybe a byproduct of seeing Garcia so worried, but it isn't like any of them to go without answering.

"I'll try calling them again, to be sure," JJ says, frowning, and steps to the side to do so.

"What d'you have there?" Rossi asks gently, nodding to the single sheet of paper clutched tightly in Garcia's hands.

"Oh." She extends it so that Derek and Rossi can see. It appears to be a picture of a doorway, slightly fuzzy, with a strange, unnaturally tall and thin figure standing under it - blurrier than the rest of the picture. "I just got the photos from the second crime scene - you know, for BAU records. I was going through them when I noticed this - I enlarged and cropped it, but he's standing past one of the bodies, whoever it is; it's a weird angle." She's biting her lip now, clearly agitated. "It's probably nothing, probably just a detective who wandered into the shot on accident, but I just... wanted to ask the others if they'd seen anyone like that there. It's just... it's weird. The rest of the photo was crystal clear, but that was blurry, I can't even tell what his face is supposed to look like, and he's just... unnatural-looking. I want to be sure."

It's definitely a strange photo. Garcia is rambling now, clearly upset, and Derek places a hand on her shoulder, looking her straight in the eye. "It's alright," he says soothingly. "We'll show it to the others after we figure out where they are, no problem. Alright, baby girl?"

Garcia's mouth twitches in a small smile, and she nods.

"No luck," JJ says, shaking her head as she rejoins them.

They're all uneasy now; it's evident in Rossi's thoughtful, grim face and JJ's stance, and Derek can feel the muscles in his back tensing. "I say we go looking," Derek proposes, glancing at Rossi, who nods. There's something to be said for the instincts of a member of the BAU, and none of them are in the habit of ignoring such things. "What route did they take, Garcia?"

"State Route 619," Garcia says at once. "Follow Fuller down to Joplin, and keep going."

"Can you track their cells?" JJ asks.

Garcia shakes her head ruefully. "I already tried - I can't pick up their signals at all."

"Well, we'll just have to drive the route backwards, then," Rossi says. "It's only about forty minutes, right, Garcia?"

Garcia nods, overwhelming worry in her eyes.

Rossi gives her a reassuring smile. "I'm sure they're fine," he says. "And if not... we'll find them. Just keep trying to track them. JJ, why don't you stay with Garcia? In case we need to get the local police out." JJ nods, her own worry betrayed by her expression.

Derek moves forward to give Garcia a brief hug. "But what if there was an accident?" Garcia whispers.

"Then we'll find them," Derek says simply, pulling away. "It'll be okay, baby girl."

Garcia looks as if she doesn't believe him, but she says nothing until he and Rossi are heading out. "Be careful, my sweets. Bring flashlights!" Derek hears her call as he and Rossi once again depart the building.

* * *

By the time Emily's head stops spinning, the world is eerily silent.

She blinks in confusion, trying to sharpen her vision. Everything comes back into focus suddenly, and with a gasp she straightens, accompanied by a wince. But a quick mental assessment tells her that her injuries are minor; it's mostly bruising, she surmises, from being tossed around. The SUV is still on its wheels, thankfully, but the front end is completely totaled, smashed into a clump of trees with a force and angle that doesn't seem quite right. But she doesn't have time to figure out why - she turns at once to her comrades, her heart in her throat.

To her immense relief, they're stirring as well. Reid seems a little dazed, but otherwise unhurt, and Hotch is scowling. "You guys okay?" Emily asks, to be sure.

"I'm fine," Reid says, almost questioningly. "Not bleeding, as I far as I can tell."

Hotch shifts in his seat as if about to say something and bites back a cry of agony. It's only then that Emily realizes why the angle of the SUV is bothering her. The front end is crushed unevenly, and on the driver's side it's about level with the windshield. Judging by the way Hotch looks down, his face setting in a stoic mask and his jaw clenching, his legs have taken the brunt of that.

"Oh, God," Emily says in alarm. "Ah... Hotch, _don't_ move. Reid..."

They manage to extricate themselves from the vehicle, moving stiffly but thankfully able to move at all. With unspoken consent they hurry to the other side of the vehicle and open the driver door. Reid peers down, squinting. "Emily, is there a flashlight anywhere in the SUV?"

In response, Emily runs back to the passenger's side and rummages around in the glove compartment. By sheer luck, there's a small kit sitting on top of the registration papers; some enterprising soul had realized the value of such equipment in a standard FBI vehicle at the Academy, bless them. Inside is a number of useful items, including a roll of bandages and a pocketknife, but Emily grabs the tiny flashlight and pockets the rest.

She returns and hands the flashlight to Reid, and moving carefully, he leans in to inspect Hotch's injuries. "Just the left leg," he says. "Um... you've got a gash, and it's bleeding. From this bit of plastic sticking out, judging by the blood. And... oh, that doesn't look good."

"Reid," Hotch says through gritted teeth.

"Sorry. I think your ankle is swollen pretty badly. I can't tell if it's twisted or broken, though, not in this space." Reid withdraws, looking apologetic. "We've got to get you out."

Hotch closes his eyes briefly. "I know. Just get it over with."

It's tricky, managing it with as little pain as possible for him. Even with their best efforts, he's pale and breathing heavily as they pull him from the SUV; Emily has his left arm slung over her shoulder, and with Hotch using his free limbs, they slide his upper body out of the seat. Reid is hovering anxiously on the side and helps to ease the injured leg out, not letting it touch the ground until they get Hotch seated a couple feet away from the SUV. To Hotch's credit, he never lets out more than a couple of gasps, holding back most other signs of the pain he's in.

The gash is long and bloody, staining the edges of the large tear in the pants, and Emily hands Reid the bandages. After wrapping the wound, Reid inspects Hotch's ankle, not daring to remove the shoe or the sock. After asking Hotch a few questions about the intensity of the pain, he comes to the conclusion that it's severely sprained, but not broken. Probably.

"You know, for not being a Doctor of Medicine, you're pretty useful," Emily tells Reid with a small smile.

He smiles wryly in return. "Books are useful." He's staring down at Hotch's ankle in deep thought, as if debating whether or not to try removing the shoe, and mutters something about needing ice, but Hotch breaks the silence and diverts the subject.

"Where's the guy?" he asks a bit hazily, scanning the road.

With a start, Emily and Reid turn and do the same. In the confusion of the crash, they'd completely forgotten about its cause - the figure on the road that the SUV had nearly hit.

But there's no sign of anyone.

A chill runs down Emily's spine, accompanied by an uneasy feeling that settles in her gut. A glance at Reid reveals much the same emotion; he's frowning as he scans the woods around them, on either side of the road. Emily pulls out her cell and finds that the signal is dismal - not nearly enough to make a call. After a moment, Reid confirms the same with his, and Hotch manages to extract his own cell with a little difficulty - only to have the same result. There's a second of grim silence before Emily sighs.

"I don't want to split up," she says, "but..."

"It's approximately three miles to the end of this wilderness," Reid informs them. "The Prince William Park office is likely to have someone there... or at least a landline. I'll walk there if you stay with Hotch."

This last is said to Emily, who hesitates, momentarily gazing past Reid at the fog swirling down the road. The thought of Reid walking this dark road alone at night only contributes to the unease she already feels, but what choice do they have? She could go, but it would be almost worse leaving both Reid and Hotch, with Hotch injured so.

"Alright," she says finally. "But I want you to take your gun out, and make sure it's ready."

Reid doesn't protest. He merely nods and pulls his Smith & Wesson from its holster; as he readies it, Emily glances down at Hotch, who's looking a bit clearer in the head but none too happy about the current situation - he's never liked feeling useless, and Emily doesn't blame him in the slightest.

"Okay," Reid says, holstering the gun once more. "Well, I'll see you in a bit, I guess." With a half-smile and a nod, he turns to go and stops dead with a sharp intake of breath.

Both Emily and Hotch tense, and Emily experiences an unnatural sensation of dread. It's the same tall, thin figure, standing in the road several yards away, just before the fog - and blocking Reid's path. With more than a second's view this time, Emily realizes just how _wrong_ the figure seems - inhumanly tall and unnaturally thin, wearing a suit, of all things, with abnormally long appendages and... his face... it's not _there_. It's smooth and white and utterly featureless, and it takes Emily considerable effort to remind herself that _it's just a mask obviously._

"Who are you?" Reid asks. His gun is half-out again, and his voice isn't exactly steady.

Emily slips her Glock out of its holster quietly, and though she doesn't take her eyes from the scene before her, at the edges of her vision she can see Hotch loosening his. She wonders if he and Reid are feeling it, too; there's a deep, almost primal fear building, and she can't pinpoint _why_ \- maybe it's the night and the darkness, maybe it's the case getting to her - but it's centered on that strange man, and she's sure as hell not going to ignore it. It's basic survival instinct.

And then, for a moment, Emily wonders if she's indeed alright from the crash, because it seems as if the figure is closer now... but she hadn't seen him move. Neither, apparently, had Reid, who takes a half-step back, bringing the gun up level with the man. "Sir, you need to identify yourself," he says, his voice stronger but no less nervous. He gets no response.

On instinct, Emily looks down at Hotch and catches his attention. Hotch nods, and Emily offers him her arm. He pulls himself up, both of them straining a little to keep him steady without putting weight on the injured ankle, and Emily helps him to back up against the SUV so as to balance. When she glances back at the figure, again it's as if she misses some point in time, because in less than a second's breadth he's nearer once more.

"I'll shoot if you get any closer without identifying yourself," Reid says shakily, but his arms are steady. "Please, just-"

The figure swoops forward suddenly, so fast that Emily can barely register it, and she hears a gunshot. There's _no way_ Reid could have missed that, and yet it seems to have absolutely no effect on the man as he bears down on Reid, and that's when Emily gets the wild sense that this thing is _not human_.

"Reid!" she cries, as the figure grabs him. Emily's Glock is up and level, and while she's trying to get a clear shot, the figure disappears.

It doesn't run away quickly or duck down, it _disappears_ \- gone in a flash, and Emily stares in shock. But she doesn't have time to dwell; Reid is bent at an odd angle, as if in pain.

"Reid, are you alright?" Hotch calls out in alarm.

Emily takes a step forward, and Reid suddenly straightens. With a rapid, fluid movement not at all like the ungainly doctor, he turns, and Emily experiences yet another shock when she realizes that his gun is aimed directly at Hotch. There's a disturbing smile on Reid's face so unlike him that Emily's instincts scream that this is not him; she cannot fathom how, but it's _not Reid_.

Emily steps to the side, placing herself between Hotch and Reid's gun, and Reid accordingly adjusts his focus, zeroing in on her in a way that makes her shudder. Her Glock is only halfheartedly raised in return; it's not him, it can't be him, and yet she can't even imagine trying to defend against him, having to shoot him. _What's going on?_

"What are you _doing_?" she asks, the rational part of her rattling off possible explanations - _injection, temporary psychosis,_ _ **something**_ _._ Another part of her flashes back to Matthew, and she shudders again; that was fake, that wasn't real. But... _what did that thing do to you?_

In response, Reid's eerie smile only widens.

Then he fires.

* * *

There's something to be said for how unsettling a forest road is on a night like this, and the idea that there might have been an accident is becoming more and more likely in Dave's mind. He's forced to drive slowly, the fog making visible distance almost a negative, and the moonlit darkness creates a ghostly effect all around them. Dave has never been one for an overactive imagination, but gazing at the forest around them is unpleasant, to say the least. Tonight, in any case, it seems to be decidedly unfriendly.

"Rossi!" Morgan says suddenly, pointing to Dave's left. Shrouded in the shadow of the forest is the SUV that Hotch, Prentiss, and Reid left in, and Dave's stomach drops. It's smashed up against a group of trees, and nothing seems to be moving within. The rest of the visible area is deserted.

Dave pulls their SUV over, and he and Morgan hurry out, fairly running to the other vehicle. Dave isn't sure if he's relieved or doubly worried when they find no one inside - both, he decides, and he gets a faintly nauseous feeling when Morgan's flashlight reveals a large quantity of blood on the ripped-up floor beneath the driver's seat, not quite dry. Hotch was probably driving...

There's also a blood trail and faint footprints leading _into_ the woods, as they soon discover. "You think someone forced them in there?" Morgan asks, shining his small light on the dark trees.

"I can't think of any other reason why wouldn't have taken the road," Dave says grimly. "Maybe someone caused the crash. Might've pursued them in. Call JJ and Garcia, and tell them to get the Marines from the base out searching in the backcountry. We're taking no chances with this." Chopawamsic is relatively harmless camping country, though wilder than it's Prince William neighbor, but at night with a potential hostile individual or even group on the loose and three federal agents missing and most definitely in need of assistance... definitely not taking a chance.

However, Morgan's cell proves nearly dead... not even the ghost of a signal. "C'mon, man," he says in frustration, gazing at the thing as if his eyes might will it to life. He sighs and pockets it, glancing at Dave, who tries his own. Still no luck. "You want to search the outskirts of this area before we drive back, see if we can find anything to help us?" Morgan asks. The unspoken addition - _find_ _ **them**_ \- is heard very clearly.

Dave knows what's going through Morgan's head - frustrated worry, the same that Dave feels, and a need to tear the forest apart, if necessary, to find their friends. Something about this entire night is just wrong, and what feels even more wrong is driving back without making any further effort.

Dave nods. "Just the outskirts."

* * *

The bullet strikes the ground near Emily's feet.

She flinches by reflex, but she doesn't move; her aim is no longer half-hearted, but still she hesitates. The grin has been wiped from Reid's face, and in its place is a strained grimace. He's rigid, trembling violently, and his limbs jerk every few seconds, as if he's fighting himself and his every movement.

"Reid..." she says hesitantly.

"Emily..." Her name comes out as a gasp. "Hotch. _Run._ "

"What's happening?" Emily asks, confusion and fear making her voice sharp. "Reid-"

"Please!" Reid chokes out, squeezing his eyes shut. "It... it wants to... just... get Hotch out of here! Get away!"

His arms jerks; the gun is once again pointed in her direction, and Emily takes only a moment to assess the situation. She turns and does as Reid asks - Hotch looks no less alarmed than she feels, but he accepts her help, leaning heavily on her and managing an awkward hop with his right leg. Emily turns to the trees - the fog on either end of the road disturbs her in the same way that the figure did, and she's determined to get Hotch into some corner of trees, somewhere hidden and safe, before coming back for Reid. She can't spare the energy to look back as she and Hotch limp into the woods, but she can hear muffled, sporadic cries of pain from Reid that make her stomach twist.

_God, what's happening? What was that thing, and what did it do to Reid?_

Emily and Hotch blunder through the woods; Reid still has the flashlight, and so Emily is to forced to navigate by what little moonlight there is. In the city, it's easy to forget just how bright moonlight can be, and so Emily is able to avoid most of the pitfalls of uneven ground. But even going as gently as she can, it's taking a toll on Hotch, whose labored breathing is all too indicative of the pain he's in.

And just as Emily is casting her eyes about for a place to stop, they come across Morgan and Rossi.

She can't even tell at first; it's too dark to see faces clearly, and all she can make out is two indistinct figures ahead. Then the figures move closer, and there's a light being shined in her face, and she hears Morgan's confused, "Emily?"

The light moves away and fixes on Hotch for a moment, and there's a sharp intake of breath from one of them. A moment later, Rossi hurries forward, close enough to be recognized, and gratefully Emily lets him take hold of Hotch. As Rossi helps Hotch to sit, Emily tries to catch her breath, waving away potential assistance from Morgan.

"I'm fine," she says, in between breaths. "There... was an accident."

"I know," Morgan says. "We saw. What the hell happened? Where's Reid?"

"Reid," Emily says, stomach dropping as she remembers. "... Something attacked us, attacked Reid... he was acting strangely, told us to go..."

Visible alarm flashes across Morgan's face. "Reid's still back there?"

Emily nods. "Yeah. The road. I was-" But Morgan has already taken off running, almost immediately swallowed up by the darkness. "Morgan!" There's no response, and Emily sighs. "Dammit."

"Don't let him go alone," Rossi warns. "We're not going anywhere."

Emily casts a glance at the two of them and nods. She takes a deep breath, steeling herself, and runs after Morgan into the darkness.

* * *

Rossi is crouched down with a flashlight, inspecting Aaron's leg, and Aaron sighs; the feeling of helplessness is not one he's used to, particularly not from an injury that seems so minor, and yet it hurts _so damn much_. "Reid already gave me his prognosis," he says tiredly, and the words bring a sting - what had happened back there? "Sprained ankle. The cut isn't bad. I'll live."

"Well, that's reassuring," Rossi says lightly, pulling back, but his tone isn't fooling Aaron. "I'm sure that's paraphrased, though. Reid doesn't give short prognoses." The older man gives Aaron a long look. "Care to explain what happened?"

"I don't know, myself," Aaron says, closing his eyes and running it through his head again. His rational world is coming dangerously close to collapsing, and oddly enough, he's too tired and in too much pain to care; all he wants right now is to see his team safe, and he can't even do a damn thing with this ankle. "I- you wouldn't believe me even if I told you, Dave." His eyes open again. " _I_ wouldn't believe me if I hadn't seen it."

"You'd be surprised," says Rossi. "Believe it or not, I trust my team."

"You?" Aaron asks dryly.

"No need to be _that_ surprised," Rossi says, equally deadpan. But there's a seriousness underlying his words, and he fixes Aaron with that look again. And with a deep breath, Aaron tells him.

* * *

"JJ, their cell signals are gone!"

The outburst has JJ hurrying to Garcia's side, peering over her shoulder at the computer. There's no activity on the screen, which displays a map of the larger Quantico area. "Where did they go?" she asks urgently, worry settling in her stomach. "Is it just being blocked?"

"It's an interference," Garcia answers, "and I can't get around it because I have no idea what it is. It happened about three miles down Joplin Road. There one minute and then bam! - just gone."

"Try calling."

JJ listens as Garcia does so - ringing, and ringing, and ringing, and the same from Rossi's. No answer. Nothing.

"Something bad's happened," Garcia says, barely above a whisper. She looks up at JJ, her eyes wide. "Call it a mother's intuition - I know my babies are in some kind of trouble."

JJ knows. She can feel it, too - an overwhelming sense of urgency to find their team, to go looking _right now_. "Call the police department, and get a couple of squad cars out on the road," she tells Garcia. "I'll call the Marine base; if it comes down to a search, they're familiar with the area. Actually, I think I'll drive down to the North Gate myself."

"I'm coming with," Garcia says at once, standing.

JJ bites her lip. "You should probably stay here. What if the signal comes back or they call?"

Garcia immediately begins to move, bustling around her workspace and many computers. "I'll bring a laptop with me - easy enough to reroute and monitor. But I have to go with you, JJ. I'm not letting you out of my sight. And I have to know that the rest of my family is alright. I just..." Garcia trails off, pausing and turning back to JJ. There's a real fear in her eyes; the same one she feels every time they leave for a case without her, JJ realizes, only magnified. This is truly affecting her. "I have the most terrible feeling."

JJ finds it difficult to argue; it's not hard to understand the pain of waiting, of being left behind to worry. Besides, they'll be heading in with backup, which makes her feel significantly better about the entire situation.

She nods. "Alright. But you stick with me no matter what."

* * *

Dave has never been unwilling to accept the existence of the darkest underside of light. He's Catholic, after all, and he's witnessed enough to understand that humanity has a true capacity for evil. What he hasn't witnessed is absolute proof of anything beyond that, devils and demons and the like... but he's only reserved judgment on it. His is a rational mind, but it stands to reason that if he believes in one side of the coin, he must also accept the existence of the flip side.

He eyes Hotch thoughtfully, as the younger man finishes his brief explanation. Dave would be inclined to think that perhaps both Hotch and Prentiss hit their heads a little too hard in the accident, but something isn't adding up. The timeline, he thinks... it's wrong. This spot isn't too far from the road, and according to Hotch, the confrontation on the road would have taken place just a few minutes ago... around the same time that Dave and Morgan arrived at the site of the crash.

Something is definitely up, and a glance at Hotch reveals that, besides the pain evident in his face, he's entirely lucid and normal. Victims of head injuries who see scientifically impossible things generally display further symptoms of confusion.

Dave decides to reserve judgment on this, too.

"You don't believe it," Hotch says tiredly.

"I'm trying to process it," Dave corrects him. "Match it up against what I know and what I'm willing to believe. I'm also weighing the risk of bringing you back to the SUV we came in, because if those two don't show up with Reid soon-"

As soon as he says this, he hears footsteps nearby - hasty and loud. Dave's hand drops to his Springfield as he shines his flashlight in the direction the footsteps are coming from, and the thin beam illuminates a pale, stumbling Reid emerging from the trees.

He looks as if he's about ready to pass out, and Rossi rises from his crouch, reaching forward to catch Reid by the arm. Reid gratefully accepts the help, sliding to the ground and breathing heavily. "Are you alright? What happened?" Dave asks urgently.

Reid nods uncertainly. "I- I'm fine. When it grabbed me, I just... I lost control of my body; it... it told me to kill my friends, but I couldn't. I fought it, and eventually I... threw it out, I suppose. I saw it again; it was awful, up close. But then it disappeared, and I came after them." He's not looking at Dave or Hotch; he's gazing at the ground, seeming disturbed to the point of not quite being in touch with everything yet. He's already starting to ramble. "There were things in my head that weren't _mine_. That thing... it's obsessed with us, it knows everything about us, as if it's in _all_ of our heads. And it wants our attention. It's our unsub! It wanted us on this case, it wanted us on this road. It's... it's trying some kind of strategy; Hotch's injuries were intentional on its part, it knows he's the leader..."

Dave hasn't interrupted him, letting him work it out of his system. But now, the older man exchanges a glance with Hotch and places a gentle hand on Reid's shoulder. Reid looks up at him and appears startled, as if noticing Dave for the very first time.

"Rossi?" he asks. "When did you get here?"

"Apparently at the same time you were attacked," Dave says. "I'm not quite sure what's going on anymore, to be honest."

"Did you see Morgan and Prentiss?" asks Hotch.

Reid, if possible, turns even paler. "Morgan's here?" he asks. "Emily's with him?"

"They went back for you," Dave tells him.

A faint look of horror steals across Reid's face. "We've got to go after them," he says, struggling to stand, and Dave offers him a hand, pulling him to his feet.

"I agree," Dave says. He's had enough of skulking in the woods, and he'd feel immensely better if they could just get Hotch some medical attention. In fact, he'd be happy to just get his team out of these woods. He's never been given to unnecessary superstition, but something about these woods and this night is making him incredibly uneasy. "Morgan and Prentiss are probably somewhere along the road. It's no use hiding here; we'll find them and get to the SUV and get out of here."

And if his teammates are not, in fact, suffering from some kind of delusion, and something is really out there and after them for whatever reason, well... they'll deal with that when it comes.

* * *

The road is utterly empty.

Derek and Prentiss approach cautiously, waiting under the shadows of the trees for several moments to assess what they can. The fog is swirling oddly at either end of the road, obscuring the rest of the world from view, and it gives the area in between a boxed-in, unreal feeling; it's positively suffocating.

There's no sign of Reid or whoever attacked him, though Derek isn't exactly sure what to be looking for in terms of the latter.

"Reid?" he calls out, as he and Prentiss emerge from the trees. The echo is wrong, unnatural - probably because of the fog, which is equally so.

There's no answer.

"What the hell happened, Emily?" Derek asks tightly. God, if the kid's hurt somewhere...

"I- it's hard to explain," Prentiss sighs, "if you didn't see it. You wouldn't believe it. After the crash-"

She stops dead, staring past Derek at the fog. He turns quickly, raising his Sig Sauer, and experiences a deep thrill of horror when he sees a figure standing just inside the fog wall. It's gazing at them with a sightless face, a pale face devoid of _anything_ , and there's no human in the world who looks like _that_. Unnatural fear has taken hold of Derek, disproportionate to the situation, and he fights for control.

"That's what attacked us," Emily breathes.

All of a sudden, the figure is closer, though Derek does not see it move. His fingers tighten on his gun, and he glares at the thing. "Where's Reid?" he demands, not betraying an inch of the irrational panic he feels.

The figure doesn't respond. It moves again, too fast to see, and Derek hears Emily's breath hitch. "I don't think bullets work on it," she whispers. "Morgan, I don't know how to fight this thing."

It's closer, again, and suddenly it's no longer solid; it's swooping towards them, a blur. However, before Derek can make a decision, before they can fight, run, whatever, the most wonderful, _normal_ sound rips through the night air.

A roaring engine.

A black SUV materializes out of the fog wall; it doesn't slow, and it slams into the figure, which dissipates. Only then do the brakes screech, and the SUV comes to a jerking halt several feet away from Derek and Prentiss, who stare in astonishment.

Through the windshield, they can see JJ behind the wheel, looking utterly shocked. Garcia sits in the passenger's seat, covering her face. For a stunned moment, the four of them are frozen, and then in a rush, Garcia is hurrying out of the vehicle and coming towards them.

"Oh my god!" she's saying, more than once. "Oh my god... are you guys alright?"

"Yeah," Morgan says shakily. Immediately he pulls her into a hug, closing his eyes. "Yeah, we're fine."

He looks over Garcia to JJ, who's exited the vehicle more slowly and who walks over to them. She looks as if she can't decide whether to be highly alarmed or not.

"Nice driving," Prentiss tells her.

"Thanks," JJ says with a breathless, disbelieving chuckle. "I just... I saw that _thing_ about to attack you, and I panicked. I don't think I could have stopped soon enough, anyway. We came up on you all of a sudden..." She shakes her head. "What _was_ that thing? What's going on?"

Prentiss is grim. "I wish we knew."

"Oh, god," Garcia says suddenly, in alarm, looking past them at the crashed SUV as she pulls away from Derek, still holding onto his arm.

"Hotch is alright," Derek says at once. "He's hurt, but he's alive. But... we don't know where Reid is."

Both JJ and Garcia gaze at him in shock, and Prentiss picks it up, relating everything as quickly as she can; it's the first time Derek's heard it, too. "That thing you hit... it caused the crash and attacked us. I think... I think it possessed Reid or something. But he came to enough to tell Hotch and I to run. So I brought Hotch to a safer place, and Rossi and Morgan were there, and... we came back to look for Reid..." here she pauses, frowning. "Oh, god, this is making my head hurt. How were you guys ahead of us?" This last is directed at Derek.

And now that Derek thinks about it, the timing doesn't make any sense. "Huh... I don't know." The unease is creeping back; his grip on his gun hasn't let up, yet. He wouldn't even be able to believe what Prentiss had just told them if he hadn't seen the thing with his own eyes. As it is, he can't make any sense of it.

"Wait, wait..." JJ says. "It _possessed_ Reid? What are you _talking_ about?"

"JJ, you saw how it vanished when you hit it," Prentiss says. "It's not human."

JJ looks faintly sick at the thought, and Garcia, who hasn't let go of Derek's arm, clutches him tighter. She's looking all around them, eyes wide. "Uh, JJ? Weren't the police following us?" she asks suddenly, her voice cutting through the silence like a knife.

The four of them look back at the wall of fog. There's nothing - no sound, no movement, nothing.

Derek gets the awful sense that they are truly alone.

JJ abruptly turns back to them, all business now, even though it's obvious that she's more than a little freaked out. "I'm assuming Hotch and Rossi are still in the woods?" she asks. "We have to go to them now." The grimace on her face reminds Derek that she has a fear of woods.

"What about Reid?" Prentiss asks.

JJ's mouth tightens for a moment. "Something really strange is going on, and we need to stick together. There's safety in numbers, and we'll have a better chance of finding Reid if we work together. Plus, Hotch is also our priority, if he's hurt. We can go in, get him and Rossi out and back here, and drive back towards Quantico." She pauses, taking a breath. "When we meet up with the police, some of us can join them, and we'll get the Marines out here as well, to start a search. They're waiting for my call."

She looks to Derek, and he nods slowly, in agreement. It feels completely wrong, not continuing to search for Reid, and part of him wants nothing more than to keep looking, but Garcia's here, now, too, and their boss is injured. And nothing would be worse than splitting up, at this point.

Prentiss gives her assent.

"Stay close to me, baby girl," Derek says to Garcia, who nods. There's no way he's letting anything happen to her; he'd feel better if she drove herself back to Quantico right now... if only the road didn't feel so dangerous.

 _Stick together. Stay alive._ Derek looks to his teammates and nods again. "Alright. Lead the way, Emily."

They head into the woods.


	2. Act Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not entirely sure of the accuracy of the Der Großmann myth, whether it is an actual German myth or not, but for the purposes of this fic, it is.

 

  
_"How often have I said to you that when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth?"  
_ \- Sherlock Holmes

* * *

Before Dave and Reid can even get Hotch off the ground, the rest of the team shows up in their midst in a way that's too sudden and convenient to be coincidental - JJ and Garcia too, much to Dave's surprise.

Youngsters would call it an awkward silence. Dave would say it's too full of conflicting emotion to be labeled; in one brief moment in which they are all frozen, there's pure relief at seeing everyone mostly well and simultaneous dread upon discovering that their _entire team_ is somehow out here.

Dave thinks that a mysterious entity drawing them all to this area for whatever reason is starting to become a very likely explanation.

"Reid," Prentiss says, exhaling his name in relief. "Oh, thank God."

"What happened, man?" Morgan asks, looking as if a huge weight has just been lifted off his shoulders.

"I'd like to know the same thing," Dave says calmly, his voice cutting clearly through the beginnings of his team's murmurs. And silence once again takes hold of them. Dave is sure they're experiencing the same thing he is - a sudden realization of just _how_ strange this all is, how fast it's happened, how utterly odd the circumstances are.

"We need to get our stories straight now if we're even going to remotely understand this situation," Hotch says; where Dave is calm, Hotch's voice is iron. Their Unit Chief leans back against the tree Dave had propped him up against, looking exhausted but utterly focused. It takes more than a wound to put him out of commission. "Before we go anywhere or do anything. So far, our unsub hasn't bothered us here yet, and I for one feel safer in the woods for now. Just make it quick."

No one argues, though JJ gives him a curious and somewhat alarmed look. "Unsub?"

"It committed the murders," Reid tells them softly.

A ripple of unease passes through them. "You mean, it's..." Garcia begins, but then trails off, unable to give voice to the assumption that the thing has been purposefully playing with them before this.

"Let's just start from the beginning," Prentiss says, and in an unspoken agreement they move closer together, centered around Hotch; weapons are out and visible, and there's a watchfulness to them that means they are on high alert for the slightest change around them.

Prentiss summarizes it quickly - the crash and its cause, the figure's appearance and possession of Reid. Reid takes over, then, explaining how, after the other two had fled, he'd thrown off its control and come into the woods find Prentiss and Hotch... and had found Dave there, too.

"This is where I get confused," Dave says, "because when Morgan and I arrived at the crash site, there was nothing. And there's no way we could have been ahead of you, if we went in the same direction." He hasn't yet seen this mysterious figure, but this fact is the closest thing to proof of _something_ playing a dangerous game with them... assuming they haven't all fallen victim to a subtle mass hysteria.

And Dave doesn't fail to notice the thoughtful, perturbed look that crosses Reid's face.

Morgan then takes over, explaining how he and Prentiss had found an empty road as well and had encountered the thing once more... only for JJ to hit it with her SUV. The four of them had come back into the woods, not daring to split up any more, with the intent of getting Rossi and Hotch... only to find Reid as well.

"And that's another thing that doesn't make sense," Prentiss says, "there's a more than likely chance that we would have run into Reid if he came back this way. So why didn't we?"

Garcia clears her throat. "Um... it's been about an hour since your cell signals disappeared," this is to Dave and Morgan, "but you guys' perception of it puts the time at barely thirty minutes since. Something is _definitely_ off."

"It's warping reality."

All eyes turn to Reid, who's beginning to look almost agitated, his eyes fixed on the ground; he'd barely spoken above a mutter.

"What?" JJ asks.

"It's literally warping our reality!" Reid repeats, his eyes darting up, something approaching both awe and fear on his face.

Morgan shakes his head, though only half-heartedly. "That sounds like science fiction."

"What about this night seems realistic, though?" Reid asks, almost challengingly, gazing around at them. No one has an answer for him, so he continues. "It was in my head, which left it vulnerable to me. Not much, but... I learned things. It's connected to our minds, and that must be how it's manipulating our sense of reality. Who knows how long it's actually been? Who knows what thoughts it's been planting in our heads? Our actions up to this point may not even be entirely our own."

That, more than anything, is enough to chill them. Dave frowns. "Assuming that's true... what gives it that kind of power?" He fixes Reid with his frown. "Tell us everything you know, Reid. I know you've spent the last fifteen minutes absorbing it all."

Reid doesn't quite meet his eyes, and Dave gets the feeling that, at least in this case, it's an intentional avoidance. "Ah... it's mind was particularly vast and not really meant for human understanding, but... I got the sense that it was operating under the basis of quantum mechanics, and that it's able to be present on multiple dimensional planes of existence. And to human knowledge, _that_ is just esoterics, but... the thing was so _advanced_. It was pure science! That must be why my bullet didn't affect it. It would also explain the apparent knowledge and skill inherent in bending reality to such a degree."

He's met mostly by blankness; Dave is under the impression that it doesn't explain much unless one happens to be Reid and possess more than just a basic understanding of what quantum mechanics and dimensional existence constitute... if any understanding at all; theoretical quantum physics and psychology are two far-removed things and only fall under the general label of 'science'. Reid seems to realize this. "But... that isn't really important right now." He recounts what he'd already told Hotch and Dave, about the thing wanting them here, wanting them working on their most recent case. It's inhuman abilities are the reason for the sheer bafflement that the case presents.

Garcia suddenly gives a start and reaches into the pocket of her coat. She withdraws a crumpled piece of paper and unfolds it with shaking hands, and Dave recalls the moment in the bullpen when she'd first brought the strange photo up. It seems so long ago...

She passes it to Prentiss, Reid, and finally Hotch, talking all the while. "This... this came from a photo of the most recent crime scene," she explains. "I don't know why it caught my attention... it just did. I guess _it_ w-wanted me to notice. It was _there_."

Hotch gazes intently at the picture for several moments, and something in his memory seems to awaken. With a groan, he leans back against the tree, closing his eyes; his face is drawn and suddenly seems that much older. "I was filming Jack's soccer game, a week ago," he says at last, "and... my camera started malfunctioning. That's when I started to feel... I don't know, unwell. And later, I uploaded the video to my computer, and I _saw_ this thing. Right when the camera had started to act up; it went blurry, hazy. It was small, indistinct, and there for two seconds, so I brushed it off at the time. I didn't even realize it was a person... but now..." he sighs deeply, "I know it's the same. I'm certain of it." The next words seem more difficult for him, and he practically forces it out. "I've been... feeling unwell ever since then. It got worse tonight."

It isn't something Hotch would ever willingly admit to them under most circumstances.

After a moment of deep silence, Prentiss speaks up. "I've been feeling weird myself - jumping at everything, seeing shadows out the corner of my eye. I thought... I thought it was because of everything that happened with... with Doyle, but..."

It's clear from everyone's faces that this rings true with all of them. Dave can attest to his own experience; 'under the weather' would be the term he'd use, and he's not one to get sick very often.

"It's been in all of our lives," JJ says, sounding rather sick. "It planned this. But why?"

No one has an answer, not even Reid.

"We'll operate under the assumption that this is something we and no one else have ever dealt with before," Hotch says; it's clear from his expression that he's about ready to find this thing and kill it himself, whatever it takes, "that we are not collectively suffering from a delusion, and that this thing is very real and very dangerous. At least until we can get a better grasp on the situation." He looks up at Reid. "Explain what you meant earlier, about how it moves, how it works."

Reid gives a small nod. "It's operating under an advanced system of quantum mechanics - just like you can never exactly pinpoint an electron's position in an atom and therefore it can theoretically exist anywhere until it's location is estimated. This thing can appear anywhere at will by collapsing its own location into a certain area, and I think it's helped by another individual focusing on it, as well. That's why it doesn't move as we think of moving."

They get it, certainly, and so Reid seem a little disconcerted by their silence, until... "You got all of that from its head?" Morgan asks, at once disbelieving and highly impressed.

"I don't think it expected me to fight back like I did," Reid says sheepishly. "I think it was mostly an accident that I got as much information as I did... which proves it's not infallible."

That's the kind of information they need, and Dave can feel the tension thicken. "You mentioned earlier that your bullet didn't affect it," he says. "How?"

"It seems to exist both on this plane of reality and a higher one," Reid answers. "My bullet would have had to hit it in both planes to hurt it. Or else it would've had to have been concentrated in only one plane. So pure physical force won't do much against it."

"Then how are we supposed to fight it?" Morgan asks. Their team operates under psychological principles, forensic and investigative work, and on many occasions the physical as well, in order to bring down those they hunt. But now they are being hunted by something that defies the scientific stage of advancement that humanity has reached, if all of this is to be believed; how, indeed.

Reid shakes his head and doesn't answer.

"But why?" Garcia asks, distressed. "Why us? What is it, and what does it want?"

This time, it's Prentiss who answers. "This reminds me of something, actually," she says, a little hesitantly. "An old German legend, mostly forgotten, really. Der Großmann - it's about a 'Tall Man' who would steal children, just like our case. It's basically the German boogeyman, and most accounts described it as looking somewhat like our unsub."

Reid is nodding emphatically, but Dave raises an eyebrow. "A legend, though?" he asks. "It's just a myth."

"Most legends and myths have a basis in fact and/or scientific mysteries that people were unable to explain at the time," Reid points out. "They don't just come from nowhere. And..." here his voice grows quieter, almost strained, "it _is_ fixated on children. I said that it knows about us. More specifically, it knows about our childhoods. That was all over its mind - and not just that... the worst parts of our childhoods, too. As if it was feeding off of that and us." He's determinedly avoiding looking at any of them, as if he's learned information that they haven't ever told each other.

"Well, then," Dave says softly, "why _now_?" Assuming this is all true, and something tells him it is. "Why just a half-forgotten fairytale, and why not in Germany? Why here?"

Reid frowns. "I don't know."

A long silence falls; they're all running it through their minds, Dave knows, running it and processing it and trying to come to grips with this hellish night... and in Dave's own case, weighing the possibility of mass hysteria against the situation, against the lurking unease in the back of his mind warning him that it's _not_. _Take it for what it is_ , that part tells him. _You are all in danger_.

"So we've got a legend stalking us," Morgan says, "that has greater scientific advancement than we do, with no known way to harm it, and we're supposed to kill this thing?"

"That about sums it up," Reid says grimly.

Prentiss sighs. "Well, since we have no way of fighting it, then we have to try to avoid it. We could go back to the road and try to drive out of here. If it shows up again, a few of us can stay behind to distract it or something."

Everyone knows the implications of this. No one brings them up.

"What it's endgame, Reid?" JJ asks.

"I'm not sure," Reid says with a frown. "Like I said, it's mind was far more complex than a human's and difficult to understand. It was definitely fixated on death in some manner, but... it seemed more focused on playing a sick game. It certainly likes chaos."

"I'll bet," Morgan says darkly. "We don't know what it ultimately wants, then. But if it wants _all_ of us, then the least we can do is foil that and get some of us out." He throws a brief but significant glance in Hotch's direction, and Hotch scowls.

Dave frowns; it doesn't take a profiler to know why Prentiss and Morgan were the ones to bring that up. "If it comes down to that... Hotch, JJ, Garcia, Reid, you should all go, if you can."

"I'll stay behind, too," Reid says adamantly. He's faced almost at once by protest, but he shakes his head vehemently. "I understand this thing best! You may have a shot, with me!"

No one can really argue with that.

* * *

The fog is still swirling when they return to the road.

Moonlight reveals that the three SUVs are in the same position and that the road is silent and empty. No sign of the figure, and Derek, creeping forward first with Rossi, holds on to a thin hope that it won't appear. Maybe they're all just hallucinating the goddamn thing, though some part of him tells him that isn't true; it's real and it's a threat. At the very least, they'll treat it like it is.

The SUV that he and Rossi came in, parked on this side of the road, is nearest, and they try that, only to find that it won't start. Derek's stomach drops, but resolutely he turns to the one still in the middle of the road and beckons the others to follow.

And that's when his tentative hopes are dashed.

The figure is there, all of a sudden, several feet before them, and Derek hears Rossi's sharp breath. Unconsciously, the team moves into a tighter formation; Prentiss, who'd been guarding the rear, comes forward, and she, Rossi, and Derek form a semi-circle shield, weapons out, in front of JJ and Garcia, who are supporting Hotch, and Reid, who appears positively terrified but attempting to hide it.

The thing is gazing at them, or so Derek supposes. It has no eyes, no face, and it sends a shiver of revulsion down his spine. Beside him, Rossi has gone pale, but when the older man speaks, he is utterly calm.

"What do you want?" Rossi asks. "Why are you after us? Are you connected to us? Are we keeping you _alive_?" Reid had said it seemed to be feeding off of them and their experiences, Derek remembers. "If we are, then harming us wouldn't make much sense, would it?" As he speaks, he, Derek, and Prentiss are spreading out a bit, Reid coming forward with his own weapon half-drawn, while the others edge right.

Reasoning seems to have absolutely no effect on the figure; it only gazes at them sightlessly, its head slightly cocked, following their movements. Its attention is focused on the four who are closest, giving JJ, Garcia, and Hotch a little more room to edge closer to the SUV, and Derek holds on to the delirious hope that they _will_ be able to get away, at least.

Then the thing lunges for Rossi.

All Derek sees is a blur, and he doesn't see Reid come up behind them, either. All he sees then is Reid shoving Rossi out of the way with a strength and quickness born of desperation, not athletic ability, and Derek wants to scream out in protest. But he doesn't have the time; the world has slowed, and he thinks he sees the thing actually _recoil_ from Reid. But Reid is reaching for it as well, and suddenly the thing is gone, and Reid is doubling over, almost crouching down at the force of whatever's taken hold of him.

Rossi, who'd lost balance but not fallen, reaches forward in alarm. "Reid?"

Reid's hand whips out, holding his revolver. Rossi backs away, dumbfounded, as Reid rises, his movements stiff and jerky. He's fighting _something_ , and Derek can hear a few of the others calling out his name, but Derek's mind is in too much panic, thinking too quickly, to speak.

_Why would he do that? What's he planning? Oh, god, Reid... no._

Suddenly, Reid's head lifts in a moment of clarity, and he turns laboriously, facing them; the hand that holds his gun is trembling violently. His eyes are darting between them. "I've got it," he gasps. "The physical connection... the way... to kill this thing."

You can _feel_ the shock coursing through them. "No!" Derek bellows, panic and fear and anger fueling him; he'd figured out exactly what Reid was planning a second before those words had left Reid's mouth.

"Please," Reid begs, pain arching through his voice. "Just shoot... _someone_. It's fighting, I c-... I can't hold it indefinitely."

"We can find another way!" Prentiss tells him, shaking her head, her gun hanging at her side.

"There _isn't_ one," Reid says and bites back a cry. "I know, I'm in its head, and it's..." His gun swings towards JJ and Hotch and Garcia, and he struggles with it as Prentiss moves to block them from his aim. " _Please_." He's crying now, and so is Derek, in anger and frustration and complete helplessness. "It'll kill me anyway! I _know_ what it wants to do to you, to us, now, and I can't let that happen, ever!"

He's losing his battle. His gun is on Prentiss, now, on Derek, and yet Derek can't bring himself to shoot. Let me die before I lay a finger on him, Derek thinks, but the team... the rest of the team... no...

" _Please_ ," Reid begs, his gaze sliding past Prentiss.

A shot rings out.

Reid jerks, and blood is staining the stomach area of his shirt front, and in numb horror Derek looks back to see Hotch lowering his gun, crying. As Reid slips to his knees, breaking the paralysis that had taken over all of them, Rossi is the first to reach him, catching his shoulders. Derek is next, and as he and Rossi ease Reid to the ground, frantically trying to stop the blood flow, some part of Derek that is trying not to devolve into sheer panic notes in a detached sort of way that the fog is dissipating. He can hear a siren, very close, and Prentiss is running towards an approaching cop car.

"Hold on," Morgan says, and it comes out as practically a sob. "Come on, Pretty Boy, you can't die on us after you save all our asses."

It's clear that Reid is still fighting something; his eyes are half-closed, darting underneath the lids, and he's fighting to stay awake. "Come _on_!" Derek says. _You can do it, please tell me it's already dead, just don't you die on me too._ "You stay with us, y'hear?"

Reid's hand, grasping, finds Derek's wrist and clings for dear life, and Derek didn't even know the kid had a grip that strong, and his eyes, panicking, meet Rossi's grim ones, and he wills with everything he has, bargains with God, prays to every force in the universe, that Reid will just _live_.

* * *

Aaron sits in the waiting room in the George Washington University Hospital. His head in his hands, his leg is in a cast, and his heart is heavier than it's been in a long time.

He doesn't see his team enter the room from the direction of the cafeteria or their looks of surprise when they catch sight of him. He hears their footsteps, though, but he doesn't look up, not until they all take seats around them and Rossi speaks.

"Did anyone approve you walking around the hospital yet?" Rossi asks gently.

"Dave, I really couldn't give a damn about what they do and do not approve of," Aaron mutters blackly.

"Did you eat something yet?" Garcia inquires, her tone like that of a concerned mother.

Aaron shakes his head. He can't. He doesn't think he could stomach anything right now, and he'd dumped the hospital meal into the trash when the nurse wasn't looking. Better to be a little hungry than to throw it up.

"You need to," Prentiss says quietly.

No one says anything after that - trying to find the words, maybe, or else just struggling to come to terms with the unreality of the night before. Finally, Aaron hears a shifting in the seat of someone near him - JJ.

"Hotch," she says softly. "You need to stop blaming yourself."

Aaron takes a deep breath. "I can't," he says. How could he? "Out of _everything_ I've ever blamed myself for... this is the first time I've physically pulled the trigger." It's a confession full of raw emotion, something that normally would rarely leave him, but he's too exhausted, too guilt-ridden to care.

"You did what you had to," JJ says, her voice quavering.

"And you did it damn good, too," Rossi interjects, almost angrily. "You're the reason we're here and not in a morgue. And nothing's followed us here. Reid has every chance of pulling through, he's strong. We've almost won this night."

Aaron drops his eyes to floor. "We still might lose," he says, closing them.

They fall silent, then, grim and waiting.

It doesn't take much longer. A weary-looking doctor appears in the door that leads off to the emergency wing, and they recognize him. Almost immediately, he has a crowd of federal agents gathered around him, and he gives them a faint smile.

"He'll pull through," Dr. Hathaway says, and his words have a ripple effect. One can see the relief that overtakes them, each of them displaying it in their own way; Aaron nearly sags against his crutches, feeling the guilt temporarily sweetened by the news.

Hathaway shakes his head, sighing; he's tired, but pleased. "Even with the emergency surgery at the base, it was uncertain whether he'd survive the surgery here, but Dr. Reid is clearly a fighter."

"My man," Morgan murmurs proudly.

"However, we won't know the full extent of his condition until he wakes up; his brief death at the base may have adverse effects on his brain," Hathaway warns them, and they absorb this information quietly; whatever happens, they'll do everything in their power to help him through it - they owe him that much.

"When can we see him?" Garcia asks eagerly.

"Very soon," Hathaway answers. "Though one at a time, when you do. I don't want to overwhelm him too soon after he wakes up."

The doctor, with a few more assurances for them, soon retreats back into the emergency wing, and an aura of celebratory goodwill infects the team. Half of them are crying from relief, and Aaron drifts off to the side, seating himself in the nearest chair, shaking.

Morgan comes to him, taking a seat beside him, and Aaron gives him a glance. "Are you mad at me?"

Morgan considers this. "A little," he finally says, with no real anger behind his words; he seems too tired for that - they all are. "Rationally, I know that if you hadn't pulled the trigger, Reid probably would have died for sure and the rest of us, too." As he says this, his gaze drifts to the others, focusing on Garcia. "But..." He looks back at Aaron. "How did you do it?"

"Reid would never have forgiven me otherwise," Aaron says quietly. He remembers all too clearly the look Reid had given him in the throes of that thing's possession - as a last hope, someone who could break through the shock enough in order to rationally consider the desperate situation. "And... I couldn't just think of one member of my team... I had to think of all of you. That's my job, to look out for you and to carry what you shouldn't have to." He shakes his head; Reid is alive, but Aaron can't shake away the awful feeling that claims him. "But... it was the hardest thing I've ever done."

There's silence between them for several moments, until Aaron feels Morgan's hand on his shoulder, briefly. "You don't have to carry it alone," Morgan tells him, and as if to emphasize this, the rest of the team is taking seats around them, to settle in for another wait.

* * *

Spencer's return to consciousness is slow and sluggish, but it doesn't take him long to realize that there is a wall between himself and pain.

_Morphine,_ he thinks, while his eyes are still closed. _No..._

He struggles to open his eyes, and eventually, the hospital room comes into focus. It's as generic as any hospital room, but Hotch is there, and Spencer focuses on him. "Hotch," he says, and he thinks the word comes out a little slurred.

His boss immediately looks in his direction, before standing rather awkwardly on a crutch and maneuvering his armchair a little closer. "They gave me morphine," Spencer tells him as Hotch again takes a seat. Don't they know that's wrong? He doesn't want that kind of pain medication, not ever.

"Not much," Hotch says. "I told them you wouldn't want it, but... well, I shot you in the stomach. They considered it necessary, at least a little."

The memories swirl in Spencer's head and enable him to push out of the morphine-induced fog and into a little more clarity. The true realization that he's _alive_ crashes through him with sweet warmth, because he'd expected to die. He'd been scared nearly out of his wits, but he'd been ready to die. And he hadn't. That's more important than pain meds, right now.

"Thank you," he says, smiling weakly at Hotch.

He can tell that Hotch is trying to be stern, but his boss smiles back a little, anyway, utter relief showing through his eyes for a few moments. "Don't thank me for that," Hotch mutters. Then he fixes a grave look on Spencer. "Why didn't you tell us?"

Spencer's eyes drop, looking anywhere but Hotch. "I couldn't," he says. "None of you would have agreed to it... or one of you would have tried instead." They would never have let him do it, even though he'd had the best chance. And he hadn't been sure of his ability to resist their arguments; he'd been scared enough, as it was.

"Don't you trust us at all?" Hotch asks.

"Of course!" Spencer says. "With my life. I just... I was in its head before. That's how I knew I could succeed; I couldn't have done it the first time. And I trusted you to do the right thing. Besides, I-" he trails off uncertainly, "well, I have a strong brain." That was his best asset; he wasn't much of a physical fighter, and he didn't like shooting a gun if he didn't have to, but when it came to his mind... he could win. He could fight.

"Yes, we know," Hotch says dryly. "But that isn't the point. You lied to us and hid things from us and put us into an impossible situation. That's not how a team works. I would've thought that all of these years with us would have taught you that."

Spencer can't even bring himself to look at Hotch, because it's true. He'd realized before how much of a lie he would have to get into in order to carry out his plan, how angry he'd probably make his team with it. But he'd do it again, if it meant their safety. Even if it meant his death.

And then Hotch continues. "But... you did it to protect us. You did it out of love. It was one of the bravest and most selfless things I've ever seen an agent do. And the worst part is, you were probably entirely right. Looking back, I can't see another alternative, and I don't even have your knowledge."

There's undeniable pride in Hotch's voice, and Spencer can hardly speak for surprise. Inordinately touched, he opens his mouth and finds that words are useless.

The professionalism seems to leave Hotch all at once; his shoulders droop, and he's staring at the floor, now. "I'm sorry," he says heavily, and Spencer can hear the absolute guilt in his voice. It's eating away at him, and Spencer wants nothing more than to stop that.

"No, don't apologize," Spencer says, trying to make his own voice as convincing as possible. "You did what I asked, and you managed to save my life in the process. I was convinced I was going to die. I'd accepted it. But I'm awake, and it's because of you. Nice shooting."

Hotch doesn't seem to appreciate his lame attempt at humor all that much, and Spencer decides to close his mouth now. Hotch leans back in his chair. "You're in D.C. now," he tells Spencer. "You were brought here from the Marine base medical center. You died there, for a few minutes."

"I did, didn't I?" Spencer says quietly. "Doesn't feel like it." He reaches up to touch his head, absently. The morphine means that his brain isn't running at full capacity, yet, but as far as he can tell, his mental faculties seem to be in working order. "What did you tell the cops?"

"That the unsub planned to draw us out, attacked our team, shot you, and got away," Hotch replies. "It's almost the truth."

Spencer knows that the lie doesn't sit well with Hotch; it won't sit well with any of them. But they have little choice in the matter - the thing had been focused on them alone, to the exclusion of everyone else save its victims. Spencer wonders what they'll do with the case - how they'll wrap it up, if it'll go down as one of their unsolved ones. It'll have to, he thinks. They'll never catch the unsub, because its dead. It has to be dead; he'd _felt_ it die, with him, in his head.

Spencer is beginning to wonder just what effect this will have on his psyche. He can't even begin to predict the consequences of such an intense battle in his own mind, if any at all, and there's still so much unease lurking in the back of his mind - probably pent-up emotion from having that _thing_ in his head.

He shudders and looks at Hotch again. "How's your leg?" he asks in concern.

"It's fine," Hotch tells him. "I got off easy."

"Hotch," Spencer begins, wishing he could easily convey in words just how much he wants his boss to _not_ feel guilty, but Hotch shakes his head. He reaches for his crutches and stands.

"Morgan and Garcia have probably already had a rock-paper-scissors fight over who gets to visit next," Hotch says as he limps toward the door. "I won't keep them any longer."

"Can't you all visit at once?" Spencer asks. He wants to see his team, _all_ of them, to reassure himself that they're alive and that the nightmare is over. He'd thought he'd never see them again, and the need to see them now overpowers almost everything else.

Hotch looks back, smiling a little. "You'll have to argue with the doctor on that one."

* * *

Dr. Hathaway is a decent man and begrudgingly gives the team ten minutes, threatening them with the pain of injection if they rile Reid up in any way. Reid's smile is enough to light the whole room, and the doctor doesn't regret it in the least.

Happiness is conducive to healing, after all.

* * *

To be safe, Garcia destroys the one picture with evidence of that _thing_ , because leaving any record of it feels too close to keeping it alive; she hacks into the Bristow PD's databases to be extra sure.

* * *

Hotch does the same with the video.

* * *

And later, much later, one is able to observe Reid sitting in an official-looking office - a medical office, it would seem. He is entirely recovered, but he waits with clear anxiety, and eventually a man in a coat comes to him - medical personnel, one can assume.

They converse at some length, and with each word, one can observe that the color begins to drain from Reid's face.

* * *

  
_"No idea can succeed except at the expense of sacrifice; no one ever escapes without enduring strain from the struggle of life."  
_ \- Ernest Renan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was intentionally ambiguous, so please don't ask.
> 
> There is actually a ton of background information and thought that went into this fic; it isn't necessary to understand the fic, but I found it interesting, so if anyone else does too, here it is:
> 
> Slender Man does not exist as an Internet creation in this fic. I toyed with that idea, but it didn't work well with the ideas I had in mind, and I didn't have the time to explore it in full. So I went with a shorter option.
> 
> The Slender Man wiki proposes two theories for Slender Man's hypothetical existence: the Tulpa theory and the quantum physics theory. Tulpas are thought-creatures, brought into being by a collective focus of the consciousness of multiple individuals; hence the "he only exists when you're thinking about him" assumption. The quantum physics theory likens Slender Man and his existence/ability to teleport to particle theory and the basics of quantum mechanics - the movement of electrons/particles is inherently random and cannot be exactly pinned down, only predicted based on the wavefunction equation. Therefore, they can theoretically exist anywhere until their position is narrowed down to a specific locale. According to this theory, Slender Man operates within similar parameters; he does not technically exist anywhere until he is brought into focus, and even then, he is impossibly difficult to pin down. He can also seemingly teleport at will because of this ability.
> 
> I used Slender Man as a multi-dimensional being who takes physical form and becomes trans-dimensional only from a source of great human evil; therefore, he is an ancient creature, but constantly takes different forms throughout the years as he manifests again and again thanks to various events. His "Slender Man" form as we know it (dark suit, preying on children, etc.) manifests as centered on the BAU - they are practically the antithesis of evil, but their job is intrinsically tied to evil. They're steeped in some of the worst horrors that North America has to offer, and that is going to be deeply imprinted on anyone's mind. Slender Man manifests as a tulpa that draws life from their minds. His habit of preying on children goes back to the fact that all of them had something shitty happy to them as kids (all of that confirmed canon or hinted at a la Hotch, except for Rossi; I think his childhood was alluded to, but never expressly stated as being particularly crappy - never explicitly happy though, so headcanon, boo-yah). Slender Man is basically their nightmares come to life. And because I enjoy the quantum physics theory, it also applies; it's Slender Man's adapted method of moving as he wills, learned from Reid's mind and knowledge of particle theory.
> 
> Or who knows... maybe it is just a case of mass hysteria, and I am, in fact, shitting you.
> 
> (In a side note, the fic's title, "Der Ritter" [which means 'the knight' in German], comes from one of the supposed inspirations for Slender Man, a rather erroneously interpreted early German woodcutting that nevertheless features a strange death-like creature battling a knight. The name has been used to refer to Slender Man before. For the fic itself, it has a dual meaning; 'the knight' also refers to the BAU, as they have been described as modern day Knights of the Round Table before.)
> 
> Also, I didn't mean to make this a 'bad things happen to Reid fic', but a) I didn't want to kill everyone off (character death is becoming a cheap and uncreative trope), and Reid's a very convenient exposition character and useful for particularly cerebral situations, and b) this fic was chiefly written for my mother, who loves Reid and Hotch very much. So it just kind of happened that way. Oops.


End file.
